


Playing Hard To Get (Or The Second Time Wade Tries To Not Screw Things Up)

by ladyames



Category: Cable and Deadpool, Deadpool (Movieverse), Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 00:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14726640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyames/pseuds/ladyames
Summary: It starts like every other thing.  Cancer.  Okay, not everything starts that way.  Then everything would suck.  Not that a lot of things don't suck, but even Wade will give in to the fact that not everything sucks.  Just most of his life.  Like, what is he?  Cursed?  Even cynical, bullheaded, crazy Wade Wilson is starting to believe he might actually be cursed.  What else could have brought him here, to this blander than beige place?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Right. This is first thing I've written in three years and the first thing I've posted anywhere in more than six, so be aware.
> 
> Also, I have only a rough idea where this is going so be prepared for a lack of plot. Also a likelihood of a lack of porn as well. That's just me, I guess. There is also a chance this will never be finish. Consider yourself forewarned.
> 
> These two have been an otp of mine for going on ten years and I cannot believe this movie finally got me to write again. And a college AU of all things? Why is that the first thing I write? I have no idea.
> 
> Let's see how this goes.
> 
> Oh yeah, mentions of Wade/Vanessa, as well. I just really can't forget her because that would be so so negligent of me.

It starts like every other fucking thing. Cancer. Okay, not _everything_ starts that way. Then everything would suck. Not that a lot of things don't suck, but even Wade will give in to the fact that not everything sucks. Just most of his life. Like, what is he? Cursed? Even cynical, bullheaded, batshit crazy Wade Wilson is starting to believe he might actually be cursed. What else could have brought him here, to this blander than beige shithole of a place?

Okay, okay. It's not really a shithole, but cut him some slack. This place is boring. Worse than watching paint dry, or grass grow, or that show with all the people trying to kill or fuck each other? Yeah! Big Brother, that's it.

Anyways, where were we? Oh right. Cancer. Fuck cancer. Wade had enough trouble with every-fucking-day life without this bullshit. And he'd even had a job (albeit, not an exactly legal or morally sound one, but it was a job that paid real life money) and a girl. Ah, his girl. Vanessa. She was so out of his league it was crazy that she'd even given him the time of day, let alone eight glorious, wonderful, sex-filled months. She loved him, for some unknown reason. She actually did. And he loved her so much he ran away.

That's right. He tucked his tail between his legs and ran. Because she did not deserve to see him die. Because he was going to. Because… cancer. Again, fuck cancer.

Alright, lets get serious. Serious as stage five cancer in a man with no insurance and no way to pay for treatment. Because, sure, the grand old US of A gave him a job right out of high school (the Army, duh) and, sure, they made him stand in line at the VA to be told he'd get 30 minutes with a shrink in six months, but no, they couldn't help him out with the fucking medical bills. Because, fuck, if a guy killed people half way around the world for you, you can't be bothered to help him out when he gets sick. But, you know what, if he wants to go to college, they sure as shit will pay for that.

Which brings us to where we are now. College. Community college, to be exact. Because why the fuck not? He needs something to keep him busy when he's not out doing less than legal (i.e. mercenary type) things, or getting chemo, or being sick from chemo, or dwelling on the fact that he ran halfway across the country to spare the only thing in his life worth a damn because he was too scared and too selfish to let her watch him die.

Yep. There is it. In all it's pathetic glory.

Wade Wilson, former Special Forces, current mercenary, ran away from home. Isn't that just the bees knees?


	2. One

It takes him three weeks into the semester to take notice of Wade. Not because he didn't know there was a Wade Wilson in his Intro to Robotics class, but it was difficult to discern him from the dozen other hoodie wearing, quiet kids hiding behind their laptops. He figured Wade was one of the many who took his class thinking it was a easy few credits he could sleep through and still pass. He'd tried to dissuade them of this notion, but he wasn't their goddamn babysitter.

Three weeks in and Wade Wilson sat next to Jack Hammer (aka Weasel, as the rest of the class called him and Nathan could actually understand, despite the sneer usually accompanying the moniker), notable stoner and kiss ass. And that's the moment Nathan Summers lost control of this particular class.

"So teach, what's the deal?"

Nathan looked up from his laptop and stared directly into the eyes of one Wade Wilson. Who'd been late to class, hadn't completed the first online assignment, and decided that the discussion he'd been having with his obviously stoned friend had been more important than the demonstration Nate had been holding.

Wade, not backing down one bit, pulled back his hood to reveal dark circles on a gaunt face that held stories Nathan was sure he'd never know. They held eye contact for a few moments before Wade looked away and picked up a large sprocket from Nathan's desk.

"If you don't know, then I guess we're done here." He took the sprocket from Wade's fiddling hand and placed it back on his desk as he stood. Thin, gaunt, and slumped over, perched on the edge of the desk, Nathan would have said Wade wasn't much to look at, but then his eyes cut over to Nate's and he was sure Wade was more than he let on.

"Yeah, okay, mister cryptic. Let's just say I'm real dumb and you should explain things nice and slow." Wade's eye ticked away to the desk and then back up to Nathan, most notably taking in way his left hand flexed and clacked as his metal fingers curled into a fist at his side. It wasn't the first time someone had been distracted by his prosthetic and likely wouldn't be the last.

"Eyes up." With a flick of that same wrist, Nathan watched as Wade's eyes snapped to his as his spine tensed and his jaw clenched. He hadn't seen a reaction like that in years. Head tilting, Nathan realized something. "Which branch?"

Wade flinched and sneered. "What are you, some kind of fucking psychic?"

That startled a quiet chuckle out of Nathan. Got it in one. "No, just an old soldier. Now if you'd do the reading for the next class and not gossip with your friend we won't have to do this again."

Jaw working over words that did leave his mouth, Wade glared. "You know what? You know jack shit! You're lame fucking reading can go fuck itself!" Wade grabbed his bag off the floor and swung it over his shoulder as he stormed out of the room.

When three bolts and two washers pinged down his arm in quick succession, Nathan turned to watch Wade's back as he left the room. Nathan smiled. He'd missed when Wade had taken them from his desk and he didn't normally miss much. Maybe this wouldn't be such a boring semester after all. He did enjoy a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this happened fast. Next chapter in the next day or two.
> 
> FYI, Nate is a pain in the ass for me to write. Wade, not so much. And that's not what I was expecting.
> 
> Looks like this whole thing isn't what I expected.
> 
> And, yes, there will be short chapters. I try for more, but that's how it happens.


	3. Two

The smell is what wakes him up. He groans and rolls over, tossing a sofa pillow across the room.

"Oof. Hey." Weasel huffs and relaxes back in his chair. "That's what I get for allowing you the privilege of sleeping on my sofa."

Wade grabs the cushion that's tossed back at him and uses it to cover his head. He groans and curls in on himself. It feels like he's been on a three day bender, getting so fucked up he couldn't stand. If only that was the truth. His stomach rolls and he bolts for the bathroom before he barfs all over Weasel's beautiful, puke green rug.

Oh yeah, cancer can fuck off. So can chemo. He wonders why he's still going through with it. (Vanessa, duh.) He wipes bile from the corners of his mouth as he looks in the mirror. Funny how he doesn't feel that bad until after the damn chemo. He leans in, staring at his reflection, daring it to blink. Daring it to flinch. Daring it to come up with a better fucking idea than running away like a baby. His forehead smacks the mirror when he closes his eyes against another wave of nausea hits. "Fuck."

"Wade. Hey, you want some of this?" Smoke rolls through the apartment and Wade coughs.

The toilet flushes as he stumbles out to collapse on the sofa again. "Yeah. No. Oh god no. Leave me alone, Weas."

A few blessed seconds of silence and Wade can breath, trying to calm his stomach and attempting to ignore the headache. And the overall exhaustion. And the... well, every-fucking-thing in his life at that moment.

"Ya know we've gotta work on that Robotics shit today."

Wade curses loudly and colorfully into the pillow. "Fuck that asshole and his stupid robot arm and his stupid soldier haircut and... Fuck!"

"Wow. That's some serious angst there, Wade."

A hand worms it's way out from under the pillow and aims a very specific finger in Weasel's direction. "Gotta work today. You do it."

"Okay," Weasel replies, relaxing back into his chair. "Guess I'll get started on Deathbot Mark II without you gettin' in the way."

The laughter that escapes from Wade makes him groan. "Keep it up and you'll get to blow Mr Roboto before midterms." He laughs even more when Weasel chokes and coughs and curses him out.

\--

Work is... work. "Private security" is a horrible name for a horrible job. But it pays the bills and he's good at it. Wade's maybe a little too proud of the fact that he can scare the shit out of just about anyone.

This job is particularly boring. Go watch this old dude and make sure no one interrupts his morning shit. Or something like that. Whatever it was, he was sitting across the park from a bunch of old fogies twisting and turning their bodies into weird pretzel shapes. Like it was going to help them touch their damn toes or something. Anyways, it's an easy job and he's mostly glad for it. He feels like he got ran over by a biker gang followed by a convoy of semi-trucks and the entire cast of Game of Thrones. (And you think his life is fucked up, have you watched that show? It's ten different kinds of insane.)

He's munching on some crackers (like he's one of the centenarians he's watching try to realign their spine) when something catches his eye. A flash of metal and a gust of air and he's pretty sure he'd recognize that bowl cut anywhere.

"You've got to be kidding me. Do all the old people in this town use this park? Today?" No one is listening, but he continues to mutter to himself as he watches Professor Nathan Summers himself jog himself around the park past the group of old folk and out the other side of the park. At least he hadn't been seen. Not that he's being that subtle in his surveillance of this guy, but the last thing he needs is Professor RoboCop to see him ogling old people.

Wait, why does he care again? The guys an asshole and... well, he doesn't need much more of reason than that. Fuck him and his robot arm and his nice ass. Wait... what?

Oh fuck. No no no no no. Wade literally face palms just as the group of old folks he's supposed to be watching disperse. Looks like hot yoga is done for the day. Yippee. Now he can get paid!

\---

This time is it a three day bender that leaves him worse for wear. At least he'd had some fun before feeling like shit. Or he sure hopes so, seeing as he can't remember the last two days. He gives himself a mental once over. Nope must not have been too fun, not sore in any of the right places. Besides, most people can't get past the scars. Except Professor... whatever his name is. His head hurts, okay? But really, Mr You Should Pay Attention In Class And Do Your Work Like I Really GIve Two Shits If You Pass This Class, didn't even blink when he'd stared Wade down. Like he didn't even notice that half his face looked like raw chicken left in the sun for weeks. Like, what the actual fuck?

"Damn."

"You seem to be awake. Coffee?"

Oh no. Oh shit. Where is he and why is he here? He peals open on eye and watches as Professor Robo Arm stares across the room at him. He is way to hung over for this shit. He gets up, pulls on his shoes (when did he take off his shoes?) and is out the door before Professor Know It All even moves.

\---

"Was it something I said?" Nathan says to an empty room, not having moved to even attempt to stop the other man from leaving. "Coffee's good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was weird. Not sure about this one. Let's see how much farther this goes. There will probably be a few more chapters but I'm not really sure. There's a possibility of side stories and stuff once I figure this whole thing out. Yeah, I'm totally winging it.
> 
> And sorry for any weird sentence structure and tense shifts. Still working the kinks out.


End file.
